We're at our home in Palm Desert. The kids went to the movies with Rosa. I'm feeling the usual residual Catholic guilt that I tend to feel around this time of year, (even though I'm more Buddhist than anything, and have been secretly coveting one of those red Kabbalah string bracelets for a couple of years now), when I haven't given up something for Lent, or at least gone to mass once in over a year, and am trying to make amends for this by not going to see any movies until I force myself to see The Passion, which I'm dreading. So I sent the kids, (my Beau and Rosa's two boys), off to see The Whole Ten Yards. Mom is grumpily reading one of the thirty, used, Danielle Steele novels that I bought for her for a song on eBay, yeay eBay.

I'm sitting here in my pink and green floral room in the desert, happy to be writing to you, sipping my favorite Earl Grey tea and listening to Art Bell, which is a huge treat because I can't pick it up this early in LA, if at all, since it comes on so late now.

I ate the creamy, frosted top and part of a super, rich brownie and feel a bit sickened by this. Sugar makes me feel pretty awful these days since it hits my intestines so much quicker than it used to before. Plus it didn't help that I just saw a picture of a chunkier looking Carnie Wilson in a tabloid (yes, I did buy it, shhhh, don't tell anyone), walking her ass off, literally, looking kind of determined and carrying a bottle of water. I'm guessing this means she's obviously gained weight and is struggling to take it off again.

Carnie is the poster child, (whether the poor thing wants to be or not), for those of us who have had laparascopic Roux & Y bariatric surgery, and where she goes we may go, so when she gains weight the whole world of there-but-for-the-grace-of-our-bariatric-surgeon goes wild with a flurry of gossip. That's a lot of pressure for one compulsive overeater to bear. I don't envy her. I don't envy myself or anyone else who struggles with eating disorders or weight issues.

I know I'm turning to food because coming out here to spend time in the same home with my Mother for any length of time is sheer mental madness, but I do it anyway because it makes her happy and she supports us so this seems like the least I can do for her, plus there's the fact that I love her, and am always hoping for those rare Mother daughter bonding moments that we occasionally manage to come just within reach of, like climbing a tree and inching out along a high branch to reach for the one last juicy peach that is just dangerously and tantalizingly forever beyond your grasp.

I have this fabulous coping mechanism whereby I forget that I cannot be with my Mother for more than three days before my true self comes out of hiding and wants to whack her over the head with a reality mallet. She invites, neigh demands, that we come out to be with her, then she neglects to provide food, (Why do these kids need so many drinks, what's wrong with tap water?) forcing me to do the marketing, which she then criticizes me for and complains about the cost of. When Beau and her own housekeeper's two kids wanted to go to the arcade she complained bitterly about having to give each of the kids twenty dollars, and when they all wanted to go to the movies tonight she refused to break a hundred and sent them off with twenty dollars telling them to stand back, while Rosa bought the tickets, and pretend to be under twelve.

Even if these three, giant, about-to-be-fourteen-years-old boys could get away with looking twelve, which they can't, where is the value in saving a few dollars if what we are doing is teaching them to lie? So of course I had to dig into my own shallow pockets and hand them the money that my multimillionaire mother refused to give them because, as she said, "Jacqui, you just love to spend my money! I told you I have three one hundred dollar bills and I simply refuse to break another one. If Rosa and the boys want to go to the movies and twenty dollars isn't enough to pay for all of them, well, then you'll just have to make up the difference. Now leave me alone. I want to read." Oh God it just makes me so crazy, and like I said, tick, tick, tick, I look at my watch and realize that, ding, it's been exactly three days.

I'm telling you, three days and we have to go to our respective corners or we'll tear each other to pieces, and guess who will always win? Yep, that's right, Mom, the bigger emotional bully of the two of us because she never pulls her punches. Whatever bubbles up to the surface of her conscious mind just comes pouring out. While we were going back and forth over the cost of the movie tickets tonight she cut me off with a sharp, imperious, "Now that's enough of your talking Jacqui! You just be quiet! I've made up my mind and that's all there is to it. Go away now and leave me alone!" Yeah, that's the kind of talk that makes me want to bask in the warm glow of her maternal comfort and spend, oh, just oodles of time with her. I'm crazy that way. *sigh* Hey, at least I didn't have to get dressed up and go with her for Easter Brunch at the club, I don't know how I got so lucky, but I managed to get out of that one this year.

I wasn't so lucky last night when I got roped into what wasn't supposed to be, but clearly was, an arranged date between an old friend of my Mom's son and me, with our Mother's in tow. Luckily for me, Mom always has to be the center of attention so if I ever don't feel like talking she'll fill any awkward pauses with chatter about herself. Trouble is it gets really boring and dull after a while. Plus Mom is so incredibly hard on me about my appearance so unless my makeup is glam-perfect and I've got on just the right shoes, bra, (because "the right foundation is everything"), and "outfit" I'll never hear the end of it. So there I was yesterday caught between trying to please everyone by making sure I had enough Easter baskets, grass, candy, chocolate bunnies and toys, and finding the right bra that would support my ever-slouching-towards-my-waist boobs.

Now, you have to remember that I went from being single and living with my parents, to living with and eventually marrying my ex, and I transitioned through the ending of my relationship with my ex to my long standing relationship with Scott, so I haven't been on a date in more than twenty years and the whole thing didn't exactly sit right with me. I just kind of went along with it for Mom's sake, trying to humour her and pretending that I bought into the whole, "You're just going out with your Mother and an old friend you used to play with when you were a little girl."

To be completely honest, and I'm betting my formerly-fat-friends can relate to this, I wanted to test out my newly acquired, am-I-hotter-now-than-I-used-to-be, super powers of male seduction. I wanted to see what it would feel like to dust off my feminine wiles, (How the hell do you spell that?) and see if I still had what it took to snare a masculine member of the human species, but please don't tell my beloved Scott. Heh, like he doesn't read this, and I didn't tell him all about it this morning.

I don't care what anyone thinks, or whether he looks good in a suit, or makes less money than say a workaholic uncredentialed paralegal, no one measures up to my Scott, not in terms of sheer brain power, (and the brain is one mighty sexy organ, well, to me at least), kindness, decency, sexually, definitely sexually, and most importantly he's the first person I think I have ever been able to completely trust who just happens to be my best friend.

So, even though Tommy is good looking, makes 300K a year, is in the same business as my beloved Father was, has scads of things in common with me, comes from the exact same social background, plays polo, loves horses, has a condo in Westwood, is building a house here in Palm Springs and a place in Colorado, sigh, again, was the first person who ever showed me his dick, (Have you seen the scene in Jersey Girl between the little boy and the little girl? No? Thought not, but anyway, that was us), has strong sexy arms and made me want to fuck him, I think I'll stick with my well loved birdie in the hand, as opposed to my bush, literally, heh, heh. Plus there's nothing that says we can't be friends.

Oh argh, my computer went into suspend mode because the power in this old house is so funky. Then I got on the phone with Scott and while we were talking Mom toddled out of her room and started yakking at me and wouldn't stop even though she clearly could see I was on the phone. Scott said, "We're two people who desperately need to unfurl and grow up." Nuff said.

PPS: I don't understand string theory, anyone want to try to explain it to me or should I just look it up?

PPPS: I really want Xzibit to Pimp My Ride, but I wish I could figure out how to get Esther's son and my little friend Eduardo's ride pimped. Some bad guy assholes stole his precious Jeep Cherokee, stripped it, screwed it up, and then the cops got it back, impounded it, took ages to tell them they found it, and charged $450.00 for them to get it back out. I paid half of the cost of it to help them out but it won't even drive. Duar definitely needs some ride pimpin' poor kid. He's also super depressed because he wants so badly to go to college but even though he's been here since he was four he's illegal and can't get any scholarships or help. I'm always struggling with whether I should adopt or marry him to help him out but it seems kind of risky and scary.